


Love Is(n't)

by MadameHyde



Series: Stand With Me Now [2]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst and Feels, Bisexual Sylvain Jose Gautier, F/M, Felix has no chill, Ingrid Also Has No Chill, M/M, Past Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sylvain just wants a family, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 21:14:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20552792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameHyde/pseuds/MadameHyde
Summary: Sylvain had kind of always figured that, of all of his friends, he would be the one to end up with an embarrassing sex injury.Just… not like this.And why did it have to be Mercedes called in to help?TW: rape, past abuse





	Love Is(n't)

The first time someone touched him sexually without his consent, Sylvain Gautier was ten years old. She was a lesser Baroness from somewhere in the lower reaches of Faerghus, a guest of his family’s for the winter holidays. Easily twelve years his senior, she had cooed over “the cute little crest-bearer” of the Gautier family for most of her stay.

She had cornered him late one night in the sitting room, asking if he was ready to be a man, without really asking anything. He had blocked out so much of the event than he couldn’t recall much more than a few flashes of skin and an overwhelming sense of disgust.

He’d run crying to Miklan’s room, thinking maybe his brother would finally act like a brother since something so horrible had happened. But Miklan had only laughed, told him he must’ve liked it, and slammed the door on Sylvain’s fingers.

When the baroness had left, Sylvain refused to come out of his room to say goodbye. It prompted such a scolding that he’d never tried again.

He didn’t bother to tell his parents when it happened after that; he knew they wouldn’t believe him.

And after the first time, Sylvain quickly lost track of how many times.

He learned to stave it off with witty banter, flirtatious winks, and self-aware pickup lines. He learned how to hold his body and carry himself so that no one, least of all the women (and men, sometimes) he flirted with, knew anything was even wrong. He tried to take control of it, learned to play up the cheerful dumbassery, until Sylvain didn’t know where the act ended and he began. He hated that about his Crest, more than anything else.

When he was fifteen and staying at House Fraldarius for the summer, one of the maids took a shine to him and they had courted for a time. But by then, Sylvain had long since lost all sense of pleasure, and mostly continued baiting these people to avoid pain. He knew they would take what they wanted regardless of whether he gave it; he might as well salvage his dignity.

When he told thirteen-year-old Felix that, the younger boy had punched him so hard in the ribs, it was hard to breathe for a week. The maid had also broken up with him later the same day, looking skittishly around the corner as if waiting for someone to appear.

That had also been the week before Glenn died.

Ingrid had holed herself up in her room for a month. She didn’t come down for meals, for training, or even to brush out her beloved Pegasus, Odessa. Felix wore himself thin, staying out in the practice field from dawn until dusk, smashing wooden sword after wooden sword into training dummy, tower shield, and whatever else came too near.

And Sylvain had just doubled down on the flirting and the canoodling and the heartbreaking in the hopes that he might feel something besides soul-crushing grief. Glenn had been the older brother he’d wished he had, and it hurt--goddess, did it hurt--to have that hope torn out at the root.

“You seem out of it,” the boy that night had said.

Or was that the one right now?

Sylvain blinked a few times. His room in the monastery came sharply into focus, and so did the man on top of him. Moonlight filtered in through the high windows, but only just. They were bathed in shadow and Sylvain not only couldn’t remember the man’s name, but he also couldn’t even make out the features of his face.

Disgust pooled in his gut, where arousal should be.

“I’m not…” Sylvain tried, distantly. “I don’t…”

He was met with a flurry of expletives, kisses, and insults. Maybe it was meant to be dirty talk, and maybe it wasn’t. He’d never know. Words washed over him, in one ear and out the other, just like they always had.

“Never mind,” he muttered. “Just finish.”

It felt like a lance had shot through his insides and torn them apart. Fighting and murdering Miklan was nothing; the volcanic escape route they’d chased Ingrid’s worst suitor yet through was nothing; the utter chaos at Remire Village was nothing.

This.

This was hell.

Sylvain didn’t even know he was screaming until someone pounded at the door.

“Sylvain?!” someone was shouting. “Sylvain, are you alright?!”

“I’m ...!” He tried to shout back, but it came out as a croak.

“Hush,” hissed his partner, pressing a sweaty palm over Sylvain’s mouth while his hips continued to furiously move.

“Sylvain!” came a second, lower voice. “Open this door or I will break it!”

The final removal of the lance was nearly as painful as the insertion. Stars sparked in the corners of Sylvain’s vision, and he couldn't bring himself to move. The other man was hastily pulling on clothes that may or may not have even been his, and Sylvain spotted the Crest of Seiros on the man’s traveling cloak.

A knight, then. Huh. Had he known that?

The man hoisted himself onto the bookshelves just as a thunderous crack came from Sylvain’s bedroom door. One furious Felix Fraldarius stood in the doorframe, half illuminated by the moonlight. His hair was down and he was dressed in nightclothes, one arm partially obscured in an iron gauntlet.

The only thing louder than Sylvain’s apathy was his shame. He immediately yanked his sheets over his waist, but Felix barely spared him a glance. The swordsman bounded across the room in three paces, reaching for the knight’s cloak as the man vaulted out the window. He missed by a hair’s breadth. Felix wasted no time hauling himself up onto the bookshelves and shoving his head out the window, shouting something Sylvain didn’t hear.

Shit, his ass hurt.

Felix leapt back off the bookshelves, landing with catlike grace just beside Sylvain’s desk. He swung around the door, catching himself by the arm halfway through the doorframe, and finally, finally, Sylvain caught something he said:

“You can still catch him, Ingrid. He’s got a knight’s cloak.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” she called back, her voice already moving further away, “I’ll kick the shit out of him!”

Apparently satisfied that was taken care of, Felix turned to face Sylvain.

Who immediately yanked his blankets over his head. Felix’s sharp eyes missed nothing and Sylvain really didn’t want to hear it. This was beyond embarrassing and Felix had already broken the damn door down. What was left?

Sylvain yelped when a corner of the blanket shifted, and moved to cover himself. But the sheets stopped only a few inches above where they'd begun, and it took Sylvain a moment to realize that Felix was handing him his smallclothes.

Was he supposed to be angry? Embarrassed? Ashamed? Sylvain wasn’t sure, but he did know that that disgust had grown from his gut and threatened to engulf his entire body.

Gathering his courage, Sylvain pulled the blanket off of his face, just a little. “Um, I can’t put those on… yet.”

Felix’s eyebrows shot into his hairline, and Sylvain couldn't tell if he looked angry or just surprised. “I’m sorry,” Felix said. “I’ll get Mercedes.”

“Felix, no!” Sylvain tried, but his friend was already out the door.

The absolute last person he wanted to see him like this was the Blue Lions’ sweet, motherly cleric. Conceptually, it made his insides twist and his heart hurt and Sylvain did. Not. Want. It. She would look at him with pity in those soft, blue-grey eyes, and he would never be able to look her in the eye again.

Despite everything screaming at him to stop, Sylvain got to his feet, wrapping his sheets around his waist like a bath towel. He felt something running down the inside of his thigh, and it was only when it soaked through the fabric that he realized it was blood.

He staggered towards the door, pausing a moment to take stock of the damage. It looked like Felix had punched the lock clean in with that iron gauntlet, and Sylvain suddenly felt a lot better about complaining at how much Felix’s bony elbows and “joking” jabs hurt.

He stuck his head out the door, and embarrassment pooled even further in his gut when realized that many of his classmates had begun poking their heads out, wondering what the fuss was about.

“Sylvain?” Dimitri’s blond head appeared at his door, beside Sylvain’s. Thank the goddess he was at least the end of the hall. “Is everything alright?”

Sylvain forced a smile. He knew it was nearly identical to his genuine one, at this point. “This is the most embarrassing thing I think I’ve done to myself yet.”

Dimitri grew steadily redder. “But are you alright?” He pressed.

“Sure,” said Sylvain. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“That scream sounded mostly like pain,” the prince said, utterly mortified but pressing on. “Also, you’re bleeding.” He gestured to the bedsheet.

Oh, how Sylvain wished he could pull a Felix and just tell him to fuck off. The words were forming on the tip of his tongue but he just couldn’t make himself say them.

Thankfully (or, perhaps not), that was about the time that Felix reappeared, Mercedes in tow. She looked as though she’d been roused out of bed, her hair a tangled mess and her uniform shawl thrown over her nightgown.

“Felix, I tried to tell you not to bother Mercedes,” Sylvain said. “It’s all good, really. Sorry for waking you, Mercie.”

Felix's amber eyes narrowed. On the battlefield, he was great to have around; he missed nothing and it had saved Sylvain’s hide more times than he could count. Off the battlefield, though, the fact that you could never put anything past him was a pain in the ass.

Speaking of--

“That's bullshit and you know it,” Felix said.

“I don’t believe you, either,” said Mercedes, her voice light but countenance oddly fierce. “Let me take a look, Sylvain.”

“Whoa, no way!” Sylvain clutched the sheet tighter about his waist. “Absolutely not.”

Mercedes fixed him in a look that held such compassion, he had to look away. “Sylvain, I have delivered babies, been vomited on, and once put a woman’s intestines back in her body. I promise I won’t think any differently of you.”

“Was that all at once?” Sylvain tried to joke.

But Felix had zeroed in on the blood soaking through the bedsheets. “Either you let Mercedes take a look, or I get Professor Manuela.”

Under no circumstances was Sylvain ever going to let Professor Manuela anywhere near him without his pants. “You busted my room open, Felix,” Sylvain tried. “The whole floor doesn’t need to see my—”

“Use mine,” Felix interrupted. “Mercedes, it’s two doors down.”

“Right.” She nodded, looped her arm through Sylvain’s, and gave it a tug. “Come on, then.”

Sylvain didn’t know why or how he let Mercedes steer him into Felix’s barren dorm room, but he suddenly found himself wincing on Felix’s bed, his own sheets pooled around him.

“Lay down.” Even Mercedes’ orders were gentle. “And let me know if something in particular hurts, okay?”

Sylvain did as bidden, staring up at the bare wooden ceilings of Garreg Mach monastery for the second time that day. He shut his eyes and tried to steel himself, but he was just too emotionally raw. He couldn't shut everything off. He was too hyperaware of Mercedes’ eyes on him and Felix’s raven-like presence pressing down on them.

“Felix,” he heard Mercedes say, “can you bring me a bucket of water and a wash rag?”

Felix must have said something, but Sylvain missed it and the next thing he knew, Mercedes’ blonde head was directly in his field of vision.

“Was this your first time with a man?” She asked quietly, and Sylvain was immediately grateful she’d sent Felix out.

“No,” he said with a sigh. “It’s just… normally the other way around.”

“I see.” Mercedes seemed to chew something over. “I take it you weren’t really prepared, were you?”

Sylvain tried to laugh it off, but it sounded more like he was choking. “Guess not.”

Felix reappeared at that moment, announcing, “Bucket.” He set it down with a heavy thump near the foot of his bed, and then went rummaging around in his dresser for a moment before retrieving some bit of cloth Sylvain couldn’t make out in the dark. “Rag.” He tossed it to Mercedes, who was still standing over Sylvain.

“You aren’t worried about this?” Mercedes asked, and Sylvain realized she was holding a shirt. “It’s going to get ruined.”

Felix was now standing at his bookshelves, fiddling with a jar candle. “I’m aware.”

When the match finally struck, the room was enveloped in a small, warm glow. Felix brought the candle over to Mercedes, holding it out like an offering. She gave him a small smile, and said, “I’d like for you to stay in the room, Felix.”

“You need a witness.” It wasn’t a question.

Mercedes fiddled with her heavy blonde hair for a moment, pulling it into a bushy ponytail that was behind her head, for once, instead off to one side. “I need you to make eye contact with Sylvain and talk with him while I assess the damage.”

“Oh!” Sylvain tried to laugh, but it hurt his abdomen too much. “You found his weakness, Mercie.”

The swordsman sank into his desk chair, flipping it around to face Sylvain. “What do I talk about?” Felix asked, ignoring the patient for the moment.

“It doesn't matter,” Mercedes said, rolling up her sleeves and moving to the foot of Felix’s bed. “So long as you keep him distracted.”

“Should you be telling me that—hey!” Sylvain cut himself off with a yelp when Mercedes began moving the sheet wrapped around his waist, reaching down to stop her.

“Sylvain, I have to see what’s hurt,” Mercedes said, kindly but firmly.

“Sorry, sorry.” It took a concerted effort for Sylvain to let go of the bedsheet. It was one thing to have sex with someone; it was another to just surrender like this.

“So, um, certification exams next month,” Felix blurted out. “What are you going for?”

Sylvain glanced over to him. It was easier than watching Mercedes work. “I don’t know.” He winced when she first touched the wet shirt/rag to his raw body. “I was thinking maybe—ouch, Mercie!—paladin?”

“That would suit you,” Felix said approvingly. “You’d probably need to brush up on your riding skill, though.”

Sylvain couldn't help it. “Isn’t that the whole reason we’re sitting here with Mercedes at goddess-knows-when?”

Mercedes gave a little giggle, even as she continued to work, but Felix leveled him in a sharp-eyed stare that brought Sylvain to heel.

“What will you be going for?” Sylvain asked.

Felix sighed, the breeze pushing some of his wayward bangs away from his face. He looked so much like Glenn without his hair severely pulled back; it made Sylvain’s heart ache for the older brother he had so desperately wanted. “My father will expect me to go swordmaster, I’m sure,” Felix said.

“Well,” said Sylvain, “you know what you should go?”

“Hmm?”

Sylvain tried to grin, but he was just in too much pain. It came out something of a grimace. “Assassin.”

“Absolutely not,” Felix said immediately.

“Are you shitting me?” Sylvain yelped. “I can totally picture you, fifteen or twenty years from now as Duke Fraldarius proper.” He adopted a high pitched, gossipy voice: “‘Oh, have you heard? They say the Duke can kill a man with just a look!’” He dropped back into his natural cadence to add, “You’d fucking revel in it. Plus, you’d be good at it.”

Felix remained silent for a long moment.

“Really good at it,” Sylvain added, somewhat lamely.

Another long silence threatened to stretch between them, but Felix wasn’t having it. “What are you planning to go for, Mercedes?”

“Oh, Bishop.” The rag grazed over a particularly raw place and Sylvain winced. “In case it wasn’t obvious which of us is the white mage around here.” She dropped the washrag into the bucket, and reached for one of the small bottles of oil she’d brought with her. “Also, Sylvain, I’m really sorry, but I’m going to have to check internally to make sure nothing ruptured.”

All the color drained from Sylvain’s face. After getting lanced through, it only made sense, but somehow, he hadn’t expected someone else to go poking around his insides tonight.

The goddess was so cruel.

“Are you sure that’s absolutely necessary?” It wasn’t Sylvain who spoke, but Felix.

Mercedes nodded gravely. “I don’t want him to bleed into his intestines.”

Sylvain whimpered at the thought. He winced when Mercedes set her hand just on his thigh nearby, and squirmed reflexively out of her reach when she got anywhere near his crotch.

“It’s okay, Sylvain,” she soothed. “You’re okay. I’ll be out as soon as I possibly can.”

“Do you need something to bite down on, Sylvain?” Felix didn’t look it, but Sylvain knew he was worried. “Or a shot of whiskey?”

“Actually,” Mercedes said, pausing slightly, “whiskey might help a lot.”

Sylvain shook his head. He didn’t need their pity. “No, I’m fine. Just get this over with.”

Mercedes tried to slide her fingers in again, and Sylvain was not fine. It was the worst, most uncomfortable, most anxiety-inducing feeling he had ever had the misfortune to experience. His thoughts were no longer distinct, but a screaming whirlwind, clamoring for him to flinch away. With nothing to focus on but what she was doing, Sylvain’s breath came through clenched teeth.

He didn’t even realize he had reached out until he felt Felix clasp his hand.

“You’re fine,” Felix said firmly. “You’ve survived worse.”

He wasn’t the best at pep talks, but Sylvain appreciated the effort.

“What’s Ingrid going for?” Sylvain managed to get out.

It took Felix a second to realize Sylvain was talking about the certification exams. For Sylvain, the lack of distraction was agony. “She’s not sure. She doesn’t qualify for Falcon Knight, but doesn’t want to give up Odessa.”

“That’s shit,” Sylvain hissed. “There should be a mid-class.”

And then, mercifully, Mercedes withdrew her hand. Forget sex; that was borderline orgasmic. Sylvain and Felix looked to her expectantly, the former with bated breath.

“There’s a small tear,” Mercedes said, pouring oil on her hand again. “Once more with magic, and then I’m done; I promise.”

Sylvain threw his head back and groaned. “I’m never having sex again.”

“That’s a line and we all know it.” Felix didn’t sound angry, but sad.

It echoed wrongly in Sylvain’s ears. Beneath the bluster, Felix was supposed to be the angry one and Ingrid was supposed to be the sad one. Sylvain didn’t really know how to handle the other way around.

Runes began dancing in the air in front of Mercedes, bathing her in their ethereal, blue-white glow. “Relax,” she ordered softly. “It’s almost over.”

Healing magic moved over his raw skin like cool water, sliding around crevices and washing over bruises. His skin warmed at the touch, the internal healing processes getting a jump start.

Her gentleness almost hurt more than anything else this evening had.

He didn’t realize he was flinching away until Mercedes carefully set her other hand on the bare skin of his stomach. “Be still,” she said.

Sylvain tried. By Seiros, he tried. He tried with everything that he was, and a lot of things he only pretended to be. It just wasn’t enough to stop his body from tensing and his mind from reeling.

Hot, ragged tears began rolling down his face, and he couldn’t stop the sobs that escaped him. He clamped a hand down over his mouth, and flashes of a million different hands and a million different nights shot through his mind. And yet he couldn’t let go.

Distantly, he felt something squeeze his other hand, and for a moment, the whirling stopped. The internal screaming stopped. The memories stopped, just enough for Sylvain to recognize Felix sitting in the eye of the storm.

Felix, who had never looked at him and calculated how much prestige he could gain by using Sylvain’s body.

Felix, who had happily shared his older brother with the older boy who had a shitty one.

Felix, who was known to recruit Ashe to unlock Sylvain’s door when he slept dangerously close to the start of class.

Sylvain’s brain seized, and he suddenly couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing. It was the same black hair, red eyes, and sharp features that had chased him through Fraldarius Manor as a child, and yanked him away from doors and fences and ponds when he got too drunk as an adult.

But it didn’t look right, without a head of blonde hair beside it. There were supposed to be two of them, you see. One to grumpily consider with his bad ideas, and one to tell him they were very stupid. One to replace the brother he wished he had, and one to count as a sister the goddess had not given him.

His family was very broken; it was missing a head of blonde hair.

“’grid,” Sylvain tried. His throat was suddenly raw. “Where’s Ingrid?”

“She’s taking care of a few things,” Felix said. He could have been talking about the monastery grocery shopping, for how nonchalant he sounded. “That bastard won’t hurt you again.”

“Done,” Mercedes announced suddenly, carefully sliding her fingers out of him one last time. It was heavenly, to finally be in control of his body again. “Felix, could you find Sylvain some clothes?”

“Thought you’d never ask.” And he was already out the door.

Mercedes had a head of blonde hair, Sylvain supposed, it just wasn’t the right blonde hair. She was far too kind when she looked at him, too delicate as she stuck her hand in the water bucket and swirled it around. But there wasn’t pity in her eyes, and for that, Sylvain would be eternally grateful.

“Just so we’re clear,” Mercedes said, “I am never sticking my fingers in your butt again.”

Sylvain laughed, just a little. “Yeah, please don’t.”

He sat up then, pulling his ruined sheets over his waist again. He found his body to be a little less sore, and a lot less sticky. Mercedes really was a miracle, wrapped up in a cleric’s robe.

He found himself unable to meet her eye. “Hey, uh, Mercie? Thanks.”

“You don’t have to thank me.” She was drying her fingers with the edge of Felix’s now-ruined shirt. “You just have to promise me something.”

“I’d be happy to take you out for tea,” Sylvain said, almost automatically.

Mercedes didn’t rise to the bait. “The next time you hate yourself so much, you’re willing to hurt your body—please don’t.”

Ordinarily, Sylvain was very good at playing dumb. “I don’t know what you mean.”

But Mercedes tapped her inner thigh, and Sylvain’s blood froze when he realized that she would have seen. In a flash, he was on his feet, towering over the class healer.

“Don’t tell them,” he said at once. His orders were far less kind than hers.

Mercedes’ smile was apologetic, but her eyes were like flint. “I have to tell the professor.”

Sylvain waved her off. “I meant Felix and Ingrid. I don’t care if Professor Byleth knows.”

“Don’t care if I know—what?” came a new voice from the doorway.

Sylvain froze--from the soles of his feet to the hairs on his head--utterly froze. “Um, this isn’t what it looks like, professor.”

The professor fixed him in her wide-eyed stare. She, too, was dressed in her nightclothes, with her familiar jacket thrown over top like a mercenary’s dressing gown. “Are you telling me it doesn't look like you were just sexually assaulted and Mercie had to heal you?”

Sylvain blinked—once, twice, thrice. “How did you—?”

“Dimitri came to find me,” Byleth offered by way of explanation.

“Good, the boar can still listen,” said Felix, reappearing from behind the professor and shoving an armful of clothes at Sylvain. “Now get your naked ass off my bed.”

There was a long moment of shuffling to give Sylvain some privacy for what felt like the first time that evening. He hastily yanked on the loose trousers and tunic Felix had found somewhere in his dresser, and then he announced, “Ah, alas, but mine noble visage--”

“Shut the fuck up,” Felix interrupted, without any real bite.

“That reminds me,” the Professor said. “Felix, I know this is your room, but would you mind giving me a moment with Sylvain?”

Felix made an annoyed noise deep in his throat—“I regret breaking that lock,” he said, although Sylvain knew that he didn't—and disappeared back out into the hall.

Mercedes made to leave as well, but the Professor stopped her with a light hand on her arm. “Hold just a moment, Mercedes.”

The white mage froze in place, one hand still wrapped in Felix’s utterly ruined shirt.

“I don’t need to know details,” the Professor began, turning to face Sylvain again, “but I do need to know two things. The first is, Sylvain, did you consent to what happened to you this evening?”

Sylvain blinked a few times. “Did I what?”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“I mean,” Sylvain hastened to add, “I know what you literally mean, I just…” He struggled to find the words. “It’s sex. Does it matter if you want it?”

Professor Byleth’s normally placid eyes grew thunderhead dark. “My second question is, who did this to you?”

For a long moment, Sylvain couldn’t think of how to answer. Should he lie? Make something up? Blame himself? “I don’t know,” he finally said. “I, um…” Shame burned in his face. “...didn’t catch his name.”

“I see,” said the Professor. “Mercedes, in your semiprofessional medical opinion, is there anything else Sylvain needs?”

Mercedes shook her head, wetness glittering in the corners of her eyes. “Not medically, no.”

“Then you may go.” Byleth stepped away from the door, and Mercedes quickly hurried out.

Byleth waited until the door had firmly shut before turning again to face Sylvain, arms folded across her sternum.

“As your Professor,” Byleth said, “you’re not in trouble.”

Sylvain let out a choked laugh. “Wasn’t worried about it, honestly.”

“As Big Sis Byleth,” she said, using the affectionate nickname her class had given her, “what were you thinking?”

He couldn't stand those wide eyes staring at him. “I wasn’t. It was just...easier.”

“Sylvain,” Byleth said quietly, “look me in the eye.”

It was an excruciating amount of effort, but Sylvain did. There was not pity in her calm blue gaze either, only a magnitude of concern that knocked the wind of out him.

“You do not have to have sex with someone if you do not want to,” she said with quiet authority.

Someone deep in Sylvain’s stomach snapped.

“You don’t get it, Professor!” Sylvain was shouting. Why was he shouting? “The rules are different if you’re born with a crest. You don’t get to say no!”

“It’s okay to have sex with someone you love, Sylvain.” The Professor didn’t rise to his challenge. But then, it was hard to rile her up. “It’s not okay to have sex with someone for fear of what they might do to you if you don’t. Do you understand me?”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Sylvain said. “That’s all it is. Just women after your crest babies and men after the ability to say they fucked you. It doesn’t matter what you want; they’ll take it anyway.”

“But do you understand?” Byleth pressed. “Your body is your own.”

“I’d get eaten alive,” Sylvain fired back. “Really, I’m good.”

He noticed then that, for only the second time in memory, the Professor had tears in her eyes.

“Too many people have let you down,” Byleth said quietly, “haven’t they?”

Sylvain didn’t know why he was crying, too.

“People who were supposed to love you hurt you instead.” Maybe it was meant to be a question, and maybe it wasn’t; it could be hard to tell with the Professor. “I’m so sorry it took me this long to notice.”

“What are you talking about?” Sylvain tried and failed to reach his usual layer of levity. “I’m fine, Professor. Just fine.”

That was the moment that Sylvain finally broke.

Huge, racking sobs tore through his body with the force of a war hammer to the gut. He collapsed in on himself on the floor of Felix’s bedroom and could not. Stop. Shaking. He heard the faint noise of the door opening, and then, nothing.

The nothing was worse than the Professor’s pointed questions and naïve understanding of sex. At least prying meant she gave a shit. If she left the moment he got difficult, then she was no better than anyone else had ever been, and he couldn't even work up the energy to care.

Soft arms encircled him then, and it took far, far too long to react. It took everything in him to just glance up, expecting to find the Professor, flirtatious words ready on his tongue.

But instead, it was Mercedes, clinging so tightly to him her arms were shaking.

“Please don’t hurt yourself any more,” she whispered thickly. Water droplets splattered against the collar of his shirt. “Please. The Blue Lions need you. Ingrid and Felix need you.” She cut herself off abruptly.

“I’m still here,” Sylvain got out roughly. “They haven’t killed me yet.”

“Stop making a joke out of this!” Mercedes thumped a hand into his chest. “We love you, Sylvain.”

He let off a nervous laugh that bubbled up through the tears. “Did you hit your head or something?”

“What did I just say?” Mercedes sounded genuinely hurt.

It felt like the wind was kicked out of him. “Mercie, I don’t know why you’re saying that.”

“Sure you do,” Mercie said, gently, patiently, with a depth of unfathomable kindness in those soft, blue-grey eyes. “It’s why Felix broke down your door to get to you. It’s why Ingrid got in a fistfight in her nightgown to defend you. It’s why your tired white mage got out of bed at three in the morning.” She smiled, just a little, and even her gentle teasing was almost too much to bear.

“It’s why Dimitri makes the rounds every night before going to bed,” she continued softly. “Why Dedue learned everyone’s favorite meals, and Ashe loans everyone his favorite books. It’s why Annette makes sweets for everyone before every mission, and the Professor only gets mad at us when we do something dangerous.” Her eyes were glittering in the darkness. “You know we love you, Sylvain; you’ve seen it.”

He was desperate to make her understand. “I don’t feel it.” He thumped his chest a few times to emphasize his point.

Mercedes pressed her hand over his heart, as if to conjure magic to heal it. “You have to accept it, first.”

They stayed that way for a long moment, wrapped in each other’s arms with Mercedes’ protective hand over Sylvain’s aching heart.

“It’s easier if you don’t,” he mumbled.

But at the same time, it dawned on him.

That Mercedes, who had never looked at him and calculated how much prestige she could gain by using Sylvain’s body.

That Mercedes, who had, without protest, dragged herself out of bed to help him and only him.

That Mercedes, who had to recruited Annette to come and bother him with sweets and silliness when he was locked away in his room or the library too long in the weeks following the battle with Miklan.

That Mercedes… maybe did love him.

The thought was equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. Why would she do that? What could she gain? She had a crest of her own, she didn’t need his. And she hated hers as much as he hated his. They’d talked about it once, late one night in the cathedral.

“Sylvain?” Her face was full of kindness and compassion and kind of hurt to look at, honestly.

So he pulled her tighter to his chest, burying his nose in her hair. She smelled like incense, heady and warm, and although hers was not the blonde head that was normally next to Felix, maybe this was okay, too.

“Just breathe,” she murmured near his ear. “You’re safe now.”

Outside Felix’s room, Ingrid had finally rejoined the party, her blonde hair ghostly in the gloom. “He won’t bother Sylvain again,” she said firmly, dusting her hands on her now-dingy nightgown.

“Did you recognize the man?” the Professor asked.

Ingrid shook her head. “No, I didn’t.”

Dimitri let off annoyed noise. “How will we ever know which one it is?”

Something fierce fell across Ingrid’s face. “He’ll be the one with two black eyes and a broken tooth come morning.”

Felix blinked a few times. “I’m so proud of you.”

Ingrid blushed crimson, but Byleth pulled an appraising face. “That’ll do,” the Professor said.

Something had been bothering Felix for a while. “Professor, why did you send Mercie in?”

The professor only smiled. She was getting better, but it was still downright eerie. “He knows why.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sylvain is honestly tragic. If you don't think that crest of his fucked up his understanding of love and human relationships, we didn't play the same game.
> 
> If you like my work, [come hang out on twitter!](https://twitter.com/MadsHatter1)


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